Page 108 of Over & Out

“Did you want to order something? Or are you just going to stand there looking like an asshole?”

I’m at the counter now, and that surly bastard I see sometimes is the only one behind it.

“Wow. Quite the welcome,” I say, irritated by this frosty reception on top of every-fucking-thing else. Isn’t it enough my heart’s been ripped right out of my chest? Effectively by my own hand?

“What can I say?” the man says, leaning over. “You fired Chris.”

Word travels fast. Especially when that word is bullshit. Adrian texted me a photo of a headline when the story broke:Hopper Donnach Fires Entire Team in Shocking Move!saying, “Anything you want to tell me?”

I guess that explains the evil glares around the room. The innkeeper obviously doesn’t read the gossip rags, since she still looks like the only one who doesn’t want to skewer me.

“I didn’t—” I begin. Then I grit my teeth, stopping myself. The man has turned around to plate a muffin from the little reheating oven, which he sets on the counter. “Bob, your muffin’s up,” he booms.

He refocuses his glower at me. I don’t think he’s going to help me.

“Where’s the nice girl?” I ask. “You know, yay high,big blond hair.” This is not my best move, clearly, because the man hulks out at that. “Ex-fucking-cuse me?”

“The woman who normally works here at night,”I snap back.

The man looks like he’s going to blow. He’s not a small guy. In fact, he’s quite large, with a thick chest and middle. It doesn’t matter that I probably have a good fifty pounds of muscle on him; he looks ready to fight.

“I need a little help,” I grit out, puffing my own chest out, “and you don’t exactly look very charitable.”

He does something I don’t expect then. He walks around the corner so he’s in front of the counter with me. He stops a few feet from me, looking me directly in the eye. I don’t scare easily, but clearly neither does he. Then he picks up poor Bob’s muffin, cocking it over his head like he’s going to throw it at me.

“Her name,” the man grits out, “is Dolly.”

The muffin’s fighting for its life in the guy’s fist. “You don’t fucking look at her,” he says. “You don’t fucking talk to her. I don’t care if?—”

“Miles!” the innkeeper—Diane, I think her name is?—comes up between us, planting her hands on both our chests.

I take the opportunity to reach out and grab the muffin from his hand before he does something he regrets with it.

“Listen, buddy,” I say before he freaks out. “I don’t want to be here as badly as you don’t want me here. I want to be in LA. I want it to be tomorrow, enacting a harebrained plan I hope is as big a grand gesture as that time the Duke built a castle by hand for his lady inTheDuke Takes A Wife.Although maybe I should do that too.”

“Good book,” someone murmurs from one of the tables. I guess I’ve had my voice raised.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” the man demands. He reaches for the muffin, but I jerk it out of reach.

“I’m saying”—I lean in, muffin out of the way—“I’m not going to steal your lady, asshole. I’m in love with Chris and I need to get to LA so I can win her fucking back. Capisce?”

Gasps andaahs now arise from the tables.

“Hopper!” Diane admonishes me now. “Would both of you just calm down and?—”

The bells on the door jingle, interrupting all of us. Before anyone can register what’s going on, flashes pop. “Hopper!” The paparazzo calls, as if he hasn’t already gotten my full attention.

“Get the fuck out!” Both Miles and I yell this at the same time, in the same roar. Only I add emphasis by hurling the projectile in my hand. The pastry goes flying, hitting the pap’s camera lens and bouncing to the ground.

“Hey, my muffin!” comes a voice from near the bathrooms. Bob, presumably.

“Come on,” I tell Miles. “We need to lock him out. They’re like rats. They always attract more of each other.”

Miles grunts, and a moment later, we’re both barreling over there. The paparazzo actually jumps in the air when he sees us coming. I think if he had a hat, itwould pop off his head. The guy bolts, and Miles locks the door.

“Thanks, man,” I say. “Is there a back door or something?”

I guess we’re friends now.

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